Orders
by OpheliaKitt
Summary: A semi-origin story about the formation of Les Inseparables in battle.
1. Chapter 1

The dawn light crept across the battlefield with its train of mist. Another cold, grey day, thought Aramis as he shivered into an extra shirt before donning his doublet – a desperate attempt to keep the cold at bay. Next to him sat the new man, his new assignment. His mule, the others liked to joke. He'd done well so far, having survived his first few days at camp at the enemy's lines. He had performed the drills well enough and Aramis saw some of his skills as he sparred with another man earlier. "He might make it after all," thought Aramis.

But today would be different Aramis knew. Today they had orders.

Aramis looked at the man, Athos, he had introduced himself as, and caught the man's bright blue eyes staring back at him.

"Keep him alive," Treville had ordered. Aramis had never yet failed Treville, and he wasn't going to start making a habit of that now.

oOo

It had been years now since Treville had found Aramis. Literally found him, bleeding and bemused as the captain came upon him walking back across the front line. Barely 17, the young man smirked at the older soldier.

"If you are looking for the enemy, you are heading the wrong way," he called as Treville brought his troupe to a halt encircling the young man. "I was passing through the area and had the pleasure of dispatching the enemy scouts," he said grinning.

"Explain," said Treville curtly, addressing the boy. His doublet was torn and he had something tied around his waist. Treville could see signs of blood on the material, but whether it was the boy's or someone else's, Treville could not be sure. "Where is your regiment? Who are you serving under?"

Aramis straightened his shoulders at the address from the Captain.

"General Marchand, sir. He sent myself and two others to intercept our enemy's scouts. Unfortunately the scouts had back up with them. There were ten men in total," he said.

Trevillle's blue eyes darkened at the mention of Marchand and the poor tactic he had employed. Sending three men into the unknown and unsupported was foolish and reckless. "Were you the only one to survive?" Treville asked.

"My brothers in arms did not make it. I was unable to bury them, but I blessed their bodies before I had to leave," said Aramis, his dark eyes filling with remorse.

Treville's eyes narrowed. Who was this young man who clearly had a knack for survival, and a strong sense of honour, even if he seemed a bit reckless with his own life.

"Please sir, I need to report to General Marchand. The scouts are dead, but the rest of the battalion is only a few leagues out. They could be here by nightfall."

Treville's eyebrows skyrocketed at this information. "How do you know this?" Treville asked.

"They were speaking Spanish," the boy said simply.

"Who are you?" Treville asked incredulously.

"Aramis," he said, removing his hat and bowing gracefully to the Captain. Or it would have been graceful if the momentum had not carried the boy too far where he collapsed at the Captain's feet and did not move again. Treville dropped to the ground and turning Aramis over he saw the purple stain on the sash at his side had grown considerably in the span of their conversation. Close up, Treville could see how young the boy actually was. Signs of exhaustion were written all over the young face; blood was matted in his dark curls. Treville called for the medic. His shout roused the boy slightly.

"'S okay Captain…'m fine…" he stammered before passing out again.

When Aramis came to, he found himself in a cot in what appeared to be a command tent. Treville was stooping over a map unfolded on a table.

"How long have I been unconscious? I need to report back…" Aramis swung his legs over the side of the cot and was immediately overtaken by dizziness. He dropped his head between his knees and fought the urge to vomit in the Captain's presence.

"Your information was sent to General Marchand. With it, we were able to intervene and drive back the enemy troops. You saved many lives today," said Treville, eyeing the boy as he mastered himself.

"It was my duty, Captain. But I couldn't save the others," he muttered to the ground.

Treville considered the boy for a moment before speaking again. "I have put in the request that you be transferred. Marchand has denied my request. He says he has need for you as a spy. How is it that you speak Spanish?"

"My mother…she was Spanish," he said honestly.

Treville nodded. "I never identified myself," he said next, "how did you know I was a captain?"

"Easy," said the boy, looking up with a grin. "Your men all seemed to care about you," he replied and hesitated. "That, and higher-ranking officers tend to be bigger asses," he said cheekily, eyes flashing with a sense of humour and mischief.

Treville washed his hand down his face to stifle a laugh. "Who was this man?" he thought.

"I should report back for duty," Aramis said, rising to his feet. Treville nodded. As Aramis saluted and made to exit the tent, Treville called out to the boy.

"Aramis," he said, looking over the still pale, but standing and determined young man. "Be careful of Marchand. His decisions of late have not been the most strategic. Do not let him throw your life away."

"Yes sir," Aramis said knowingly. "But I'm a solider sir, and I must complete whatever duty is assigned to me. I have no right to act as though my life is more valuable than any other soldier's."

Treville nodded. "I understand. When this is all over, I want you to find me. I have just received new instructions from Paris. I think I could use a man like you. Are you any good with a pistol or musket?"

Aramis grinned. "Oh, I'm all right with those things. If I survive this, I promise I'll find you, Captain….?"

"Treville," he replied, and with a nod, the young man settled his hat once more on his dark curls and exited the tent.

oOo

Aramis smiled at the memory of his meeting with Treville. He looked over at the man who had been made his recent mission and raising his glass of wine to him, he downed its contents. It was quite early to be drinking Aramis knew, but he also knew how depleted the rations were, and there was no telling when he might next get a taste of wine out here at their camp.

"If ever," he thought morosely and he scanned what could be visible of the battlefield. Thoughts like these were certain to get him killed, countered Aramis in his inner dialogue.

Shaking his head, he ran a hand through his dark brown curls and settled his hat on top of them.

"Keep him alive," Treville's words repeated in his head. If the Captain thought there was something to this quiet man sitting on the edge of battle, then Aramis would do all he could to fulfill Treville's request and keep him alive.

"Right," said Aramis out loud, disrupting the quiet of the steel grey dawn. "First things first. Breakfast."

Strapping his harquebus to his belt and passing Athos one of the other muskets, Aramis gave the man a cheerful grin and a wink and said, "I do so hope there's porridge. I believe that yesterday's is still sticking with me." He smirked at Athos' wide eyes and led him towards the cooking fire where what would pass for their breakfast was being prepared.

oOo


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:** Hi! Thanks for the awesome responses to chapter 1! I'm heading across the pond, as they say, for a bit of a tour of Scotland and Ireland. Planning on just driving through the highlands for some inspiration for a bit, but I'm going to try to keep posting to this story as I go, but bear with me if my posts don't come as quickly as they usually do! Cheers, and thanks for reading!_

ooooooooooooo

Athos trailed after the man as he called good morning to the others just rousing around them. He was met by a variety of greetings – a groan, a grin, a grunt, a wave. Athos watched him pass among the other soldiers. It seemed that despite the grey morning, wherever this man went, it grew lighter even if it was only for that moment. Athos juggled the muskets on his back and wondered who this man was, this Aramis, that seemed to have the respect and affection of all the hardened men on the brink of battle.

"Keep him alive," Treville had said as he had handed Athos his commission and his assignment for the front.

Athos knew he was fated for the front the moment Treville had dragged him out of the bottle and into the garrison. What the older man had seen in him, Athos did not know. All he knew was that the man had given him a second shot at a life. He had placed his faith in a drunk he had found on the streets of Paris and gave him a mission.

oOo

It was a sheer coincidence that Athos had been passing when Treville had been attacked by the group of thieves. Perhaps passing was a liberal term.

In truth, he had been kicked out of the tavern he had barricaded himself in for the night after fighting one of the patrons who had been drunkenly harassing the bar maid who was clearly uninterested. In three swift blows Athos had disarmed the man, knocked him unconscious, and found himself tossed out on his ass into the Parisian night.

Stumbling to his feet, rapier still in hand, Athos trailed slowly behind the solitary figure of Treville just as three other figures emerged from the shadows and began their attack on the man. Though drunk, Athos leapt into action, and easily defeated two of the attackers while Treville dispatched the third.

Breathless, Athos stood next to the Musketeer Captain, his hand at his side. Pulling his hand away he noted blood staining his palm.

"Damn," thought Athos. The pain was minimal, assisted greatly by the copious amount of wine he had consumed just before this encounter. "It must be only a graze," he thought.

"Thank you," panted the older man next to him. Extending his hand he said, "I am Captain Treville of the King's Musketeers."

"Athos," the man replied, promptly collapsing on the ground in front of the Captain.

Athos awoke in a strange bed in a strange room. The white walls and ceiling and the light peeking through the curtained window assaulted his pounding head. Hearing a noise from the end of the room, Athos sat up quickly. He was immediately hit by a wave of nausea and deftly vomited over the side or the bed into a waiting bucket.

"You're awake," said a vaguely familiar voice. "I thought you might need that."

Athos wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve and slowly regarded the man standing before him.

"May I?" asked the man, throwing the curtains open and seating himself in a chair across from the bed.

Athos threw up an arm to shield his eyes from the light. This morning was not beginning how Athos would have liked.

As he lowered his arm, eyes adjusting to the light in the room despite the protests of the pounding behind them, Athos muttered, "Who are you?"

"As I told you last night, my name is Treville. I am the Captain of the Musketeers, the King's elite guard," he said. "You saved my life last night."

The Captain spoke in short brusque statements. This was a man of action and respect, thought Athos.

"You have some skill with a blade," he continued. "Your countenance indicates a fine upbringing. It seems a shame to throw your life away on a bar room floor."

"You know nothing of my past," Athos replied, ice present in every syllable.

Treville paused. "You're right," he said. "I know nothing about you. I don't know what demons you were trying to drown or how you got to be where you are. What I do know is that even while drunk you acted with honour, first dispatching that thug who was harassing the bar maid – I spoke to the bar owner – and then by leaping into action to assist a total stranger."

Treville and Athos were silent, letting the words sink in.

"You're an excellent swordsman," Treville repeated. "That was apparent even in your drunken state. If you are searching for a life with more honour than you'll find at the bottom of a bottle, there is an opportunity here for you. With the Musketeers."

Athos stared at the man, wide-eyed but wary. Could this be the course he could take to redeem himself?

"No," thought Athos, "Some things can never be forgiven."

"But maybe," his mind countered, maybe this can be an opportunity to serve justice and do right with what might remain of my life."

Athos said nothing as Treville stood to leave the room.

"I will need your answer in two days," he said and left.

Two days later, Athos returned to the Musketeers' garrison and met Treville.

"My past is my own," he said to the Captain. "I should hope for you to respect that."

Treville nodded. "Your drinking will need to be controlled," he responded. "If you respect this regiment, you will need to respect that."

Athos nodded his acquiescence, a flutter of doubt passing before those icy blue eyes.

Treville looked at the man standing before him – blue eyes locked on blue, a vow made and accepted.

Looking down at his desk, Treville handed the man two pieces of paper.

"You will report to the front lines on our western border where you will join the Musketeer regiment. Find Aramis and give him this. He will take care of you, show you the ropes." Treville handed Athos his orders and a sealed envelope.

"Keep him alive," he said as he dismissed the man.

oOo

Athos shook his head at the bowl of "porridge" handed to him from the camp cook.

"Surviving the food here is half the battle," said Aramis cheekily. "Here," he said swiftly passing Athos a small cloth sack. "Put that away, quickly!"

Athos peeked inside to see two apples and a hard wedge of cheese. Riches beyond belief!

Aramis grinned at the shocked look on Athos' face. "It helps to know who's back to scratch – and who might appreciate a good hat," Aramis said with a grin.

Athos looked back to the chapeau atop the cook's head as he doled out the grub to the soldiers gathered around him with a smug look on his face. Athos looked back at Aramis.

"Where did you find that hat?" Athos asked.

"The former enemy soldier I removed it from was no longer using it…" Aramis grinned. "His sacrifice ensures us this small prize. Don't say I never did anything for you!" he said and led them away from the rudimentary mess hall, elegantly munching away on his own apple.

oOo


	3. Chapter 3

Athos quickened his stride to catch up to Aramis as he wove his way among the men. The pair approached a command tent and were beckoned inside by the page at the door.

"General," said Aramis upon entering and nodding to the commanding officer. Athos did the same, shuffling the muskets on his back once more for a better grip.

The General looked up and inspected the men standing before him. Aramis he knew well, having relied upon the marksman's talents in quite a few skirmishes over the past months. The other man he did not know, though he arrived with Treville's endorsement, which more than satisfied the General's curiosity.

"You'll be taking point on the western flank," he said, pointing to a circled area on the map. Athos looked on, memorizing the map's contents and the potential positioning of the enemy.

Aramis nodded. "Who's taking the bell tower?" he asked.

"Moreau," replied the General. "The infantry will be trying to position their gun on this crest," he said indicating a hilltop. "You are to keep the enemy distracted and lay down cover fire. We attack at 11:00. Listen for the bells. Take cover in the trees while the light is still low. Find your perch and rain down hell."

Aramis nodded to the General and giving a quick bow with his head, he turned and left the tent.

"A moment," he said to Athos, who had made to follow the man out. Athos stood at attention before the General.

"The man you are following is one of the best marksmen in France," the General said. "You keep those muskets loaded and ready for him. Getting that big gun in place could change the pace of this war. You watch his back." Athos nodded his response.

"May I suggest something?" Athos said calmly to the General who had turned back to his map.

The General looked up, surprised by the new man's question. Curious and amused, the General nodded.

"Have half the battalion flank the hillside from the west while the others wait in this copse to the east of the bell tower. If the guns' initial position is targeted at the enemy's northwest flank, they will be forced to retreat eastward, where the rest of the battalion will be waiting."

The General smirked and silently thanked God for his old friend Treville. This man could prove to be another useful tool in the arsenal Treville had sent him.

"That's an interesting recommendation. I will take it into consideration Monsieur…"

"Athos," he replied.

"Athos," said the General thoughtfully. "Dismissed," he said and turned back to his map.

oOo

Back outside the tent it took Athos a few moments to locate Aramis who had gathered by the artillery and was inspecting a series of guns with another two men.

"I hear you have the tower today Moreau. It seems you are the lucky one," Aramis said.

"Lucky?" grinned, the older man, Moreau, "It's a nice enough perch, but those bells make it impossible to get any rest."

"And to think, you joined the regiment to take it easy," said the third man.

"And you joined to earn some more stories to tell the ladies in Paris!" responded Aramis.

"Well we can't all just get by on our pretty faces like you Aramis," replied Moreau with a grin.

"Come now, mon ami. You're forgetting my incredible charm, keen wit…did you mention I was handsome?" asked Aramis through the laughter of the men gathered.

"And modest," finished Athos joining the men. The laughter doubled as Aramis' jaw fell open in mock surprise and his eyebrows shot to his hairline. Moreau wiped a tear from his eye as the other man walked away laughing.

"So," said Moreau. "This is your new body guard."

"I've been told I'm his mule," said Athos curtly.

Aramis grinned widely. "Moreau, meet Athos. Athos, Moreau."

The two men shook hands. "Pleasure to meet you," said Moreau.

"Likewise," said Athos stiffly. Aramis burst out laughing.

"Athos must like you, Moreau. That's more than he's said to me all week!"

Athos blushed. "Did you ever think that might be because you tend to talk too much?" Moreau asked grinning back at the Aramis.

The men took a breath as the laughter died down. Moreau cleared his throat.

"Well, better be going," he said. "That tower's got a lot of stairs. Good luck Athos," he said nodding.

"Be safe," he said turning to Aramis, grasping his forearm.

"You too," said Aramis affectionately, his dark eyes glistening slightly. "All for one," he said.

Moreau nodded his head, and with one more meaningful look and a dip of his hat, the older marksman walked away, musket in his grasp.

Aramis looked after the older man for a moment, then crossing himself, he raised a small worn wood crucifix to his lips and kissed it.

Turning once more to Athos he gave a small smile.

"We've actually got the easier assignment today," he said. "We've only got to make sure they're distracted and keep them in line with the canon once it's set up." Athos nodded, recalling the General's map.

"C'mon," Aramis said. "It's an easy post, but it's a bastard to get to."

oOo


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Thank you all for the great reviews! I take off tomorrow, so I'll try to post one more chapter before I leave. Then it'll likely about a two week hiatus. Sorry! Any recos for Scotland and Ireland?**_ ;-)

ooooooooooooo

Aramis and Athos continued winding their way across the camp. Men called greetings to the marksman as they passed. Aramis' popularity was evident as Athos stayed in his wake.

"How long have you been a soldier?" Athos asked, surprising himself with the question.

Aramis grinned and looked over his shoulder at the man trailing him. "I joined when I was about 16," he said. "Ran into to Treville a few years in and have been serving under him nearly since. When he was given the assignment to form the Musketeers, he kind of brought me along with him," he said nonchalantly.

Athos was stunned. The man was still so young – at least four or five years younger than he was – and yet it seemed as though he had been in and out of battles for most of his life. A soldier at sixteen!

Aramis may have been cavalier about Treville including him when the Musketeers were formed, but Athos had known of the King's elite protectors – their reputation had spread quickly – and he knew that for Aramis to be included among the original members meant that he was the prime example of what serving in this elite regiment should be. That was why Athos had been assigned to him, he realized. Treville had wanted Athos to receive hands on training – an audition maybe – with one of his best.

Athos' silence clouded over him as he ruminated on this discovery.

The men strode on. The camp had thinned out. Aramis darted between grassy knolls and sparse groups of men with Athos close on his heels. The warm greetings and cheery banter they left back at the camp. They approached the final watch-post, a solitary man with a musket ready standing behind a boulder. He was staring through the scope of the weapon across the broad field pockmarked by bullet holes and cannon fire. The thick mud squelched under Athos' boots.

"All quiet Pierre?" Aramis asked the sentinel.

"Like a tomb," he replied. Aramis raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry," said Pierre, without looking away from his scope. "Bad choice of words."

"As long as it's their tomb and not ours," replied Aramis.

"There hasn't been any movement for a while now. This mist will help you this morning, not sure the sun'll break through. Don't dodder though," Pierre said. Aramis gave him a pat on the shoulder, jostling him slightly. Pierre glared for a moment with one eye before returning his focus to his weapon.

Aramis stepped away from the man and looked at Athos. "On my mark, be ready to run."

Athos looked around the boulder and across the muddy expanse to where a dense cluster of trees marked the beginnings of the larger forest beyond.

Athos was just about to say something when a cloud shifted slightly and the morning got even greyer, if possible.

"Now!" shouted Aramis and he took off across the field.

Startled, Athos stumbled but recovered instantly. He could see the marksman darting and weaving to avoid the potholes in front of him. Athos struggled to catch up, muskets jangling behind him. They were only a quarter way across when the first shots were heard. Clouds of dirt erupted behind Athos as the bullets hit the ground. Return fire was heard behind him, but Athos ignored it.

"Just keep running," he thought. The marksman in front of him kept his pace, leaping over some debris in his path. Half way now and Athos was panting. He heard a whiz as a bullet streaked passed him missing him by inches. Aramis stumbled slightly in front of him, but he kept his footing and kept driving towards the shelter of the trees.

Athos felt his chest was fit to explode as they drew within 100 yards of the tree line. Another burst of dirt. 80 yards. Athos' foot skittered slightly as a rock gave way under it.

"Just keep moving!" he shouted at himself internally.

50 yards. He couldn't breathe.

20 yards. This would be his end.

!0 yards and Aramis was at the trees now, Athos a second behind but they kept running as two tree trunks splintered around them.

Finally Aramis pulled to a halt, head bowed and leaning heavily against a tree. Athos came up next to him and bent over, his hands on his knees, desperately trying to control his breathing. After a few moments when both men were breathing regularly again Aramis righted himself to look at Athos.

"Well the first part's over," he said with a grin, which quickly faded from his face. "You're bleeding," he said looking at Athos.

Athos looked down at his arm. The sleeve was torn across the top of his bicep and the wound beneath it was bleeding steadily.

"Take off your doublet," said Aramis. "Let me see the wound."

Athos said nothing. Settling on a fallen tree he removed his doublet as instructed. His eyes were focused on the furrow mark on his arm that a passing musket ball had left.

"So this is what being shot feels like," he thought. "Grazed," he corrected himself. He was entranced with the wound and barely noticed what Aramis was doing until his arm suddenly erupted into fire as Aramis poured some kind of clear liquid into the wound.

Athos shouted in surprise and pain. Aramis immediately began wiping at the wound with a clean cloth.

"Hold still," he instructed. "I need to ensure the wound is clean," he said, grasping Athos by the elbow and holding him steady. "Damn," he whispered to himself. "That'll need stitches." Aramis began to search through some pockets from the inside of his doublet, emerging triumphantly with a needle and thread.

"Are you a seamstress as well?" Athos asked wryly. The pain of the gunshot finally registering.

Aramis grinned as he threaded the needle. "Fine enough for the Queen's chemise," he said. "The wound isn't too deep," he explained to Athos, "but if we don't stitch it closed, it's likely to keep bleeding which could lead to blood loss and infection."

Athos nodded soberly. Aramis looked at the man, needle poised.

"Have you ever been shot before?" he asked. Athos shook his head.

"Ah, well, congratulations. Remind me, and we'll celebrate when we get back to camp," he said and without further preamble, he began to stitch his companion's arm.

Athos moaned as the needle pierced his flesh. Aramis didn't stop.

"God, that hurts!" he said.

"Yes," agreed Aramis. "I probably should have warned you…but it hurts a lot less than amputation," he said, his lip turning up slightly. "Besides, this is only a graze. You're lucky the ball didn't embed itself in your arm or shatter any bones in its path."

"Yes, lucky me," said Athos glibly.

"One thing you'll learn quickly out here is to never run in a straight line," he said tying off his last stitch. "It'll lessen your odds of being shot," he said and poured more of the clear liquid onto the now closed wound. Athos glared at the now inflamed wound stretching across his bicep as Aramis began to dress it with a clean bandage.

"That lesson may have been more useful before we began this mission," said Athos, raising an eyebrow to the marksman.

Aramis shrugged. "I knew you'd be a quick learner. Come on," he said. "Let's find us a nest."

The men made their way through the dense trees, Aramis examining a few of the trunks as they passed.

"Here," he said, tapping a slight abrasion on the bark. "We go right here," he said.

"Is that a clue?" Athos asked.

"A sign post," replied Aramis. "From one of our spies or scouts, or another marksman. You'll find that after a while, all trees tend to look the same, so where possible, we try to hide an indicator should you get lost. The notches indicate which direction to head out in. Returning, just follow the directions in reverse and it'll lead you back to camp."

As they continued, Athos began to take notice of the notched trees and was astounded by the intricacies of the markings. You had to know what to look for in order to see, he surmised.

Eventually Aramis brought them to a halt. "We can rest here," he said. "There's a series of boulders just a bit further. The sightlines are good there and the rocks and treeline should provide us with ample cover. It's not a usual spot too, so hopefully we can catch them a bit off guard," he said and threw himself down on the ground leaning against a large oak. Athos took a seat against the tree next to Aramis.

"This is your first battle," Aramis stated, rather than asked. "When the time comes, and the shooting starts, I need you to keep these muskets coming. I need you to be watching my back too. We're all alone out here, and from my position, I won't be able to defend us if any of the enemy figures out where we are and tries to flank us."

Athos nodded. "It's alright to be nervous," said Aramis after a moment. "It's normal to be afraid of dying."

"I'm not afraid to die," Athos said bluntly. Aramis raised his eyebrows at that remark.

"No, perhaps not," he said thoughtfully. "I guess the more important question is how badly do you want to live?" he stated. "Tell me, Athos, why are you here?"

Athos raised an eyebrow at the man but said nothing.

"Don't give me that," said Aramis. "It's clear that you're from a noble lineage," he said, causing Athos to tense slightly. "So my next question is, what are you running from? His Majesty can't be so desperate for soldiers that he's conscripting his courtiers. So tell me, what are you running from? I know Treville sees something in you, and I trust his judgement in all things –"

"Then maybe you should leave it at that," stated Athos stonily, his cold blue eyes burning into the marksman.

"I like you Athos, and I trust Treville with my life. I just need to make sure that I can trust you with it," responded Aramis bluntly, brown eyes locked with blue.

The two men lapsed into a broody silence, both tangled in their own thoughts. If they could only know that the same order kept repeating in both their minds, "Keep him alive."

After about an hour, Aramis rose to his feet. "Come on," he said. ""It's time."

oOo

 _ **A/N: Big shout out to elbcw who let me know that I probably shouldn't post without coffee as I originally accidentally posted a chapter from a previously story! THANKS!**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: Currently on a ferry between Ireland and Scotland, so it seemed like a good opportunity to get this out! Thanks for your patience!**_

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Athos rose and followed Aramis into a slight clearing. A series of boulders were edged by a few sparse trees which thankfully hid the boulders from view yet afford the men ample sight lines of the battlefield. Aramis crouched low and crept to the boulders. Athos kept close behind.

"It'll be easier if you lay the muskets before you," said Aramis. "Have you ever loaded one of these before?" he asked, a trace of hesitance in his eyes for the first time. In response, Athos deftly loaded the first musket and handed it to the marksman. Between the two of them they carried three muskets, two pairs of pistols, plus Aramis' harquebus that was strapped at his side. In Athos' mind they had a pretty good level of artillery, but the way Aramis kept patting his harquebus to confirm it was still there, had him questioning his confidence.

"Get ready," breathed Aramis as he settled into his stance behind the boulder. He softly blew on the lit starter.

"BANG!"

The church bell in the distance began to toll and all at once the gates of hell seemed to burst open. Gunfire and the screams of men erupted on both sides of the battlefield. Aramis was unfazed. Drawing a deep breath he slowly exhaled and fired.

One man fell down dead.

Athos handed Aramis the next gun. Again he drew and fired. Another man fell. Athos handed Aramis the next gun, and the next one, reloading as fast as was possible. Man after man fell to Aramis' almost divine-like aim.

The enemy screamed and rerouted trying to avoid the sniper's shots from one side without running headlong into the infantry that was pressing them eastward. A musket ball zinged off the top of the boulder as Aramis dropped quickly for cover.

"It's seems they may have figured out where we are," said Aramis as he dropped his spent musket. "Forget those for now. Prime your pistols," he instructed. Athos did as he was told, dropping the musket at his feet, he reached for his military issued pistols and primed them, just as the first man burst through their clearing.

Aramis' shot burst through his eye socket before he was able to take more than a step. Aramis was up on his feet in a heartbeat, meeting the other four men that followed in the first's wake. Firing at his next attacker, the man was blown backward off his feet into the man behind him. Dropping his pistol, Aramis drew his rapier and engaged one of the men with his sword.

Athos fired his pistol at another attacker and was shocked when the man sank to the earth clutching his stomach. He didn't have much time to react as another two men pushed their way into the clearing.

Aramis changed his tactics and faced two men at once, rapier and main gauche flourishing in elegant and deadly strokes. Athos watched the marksman from the corner of his eye, astounded at the man's graceful and deadly swordsmanship. Athos engaged his own attacker with his rapier, as one of the first attackers finally managed to extricate himself from beneath his dead comrade who had fallen on top of him. With the pistol clenched in his left hand Athos made to fire at the man, but the weapon misfired. Dropping it he drew his main gauche and continued to battle his opponent.

Aramis had dispatched one of his assailants, but was not yet cognizant of the other man creeping up to attack him from the side - his other opponent was talented and somehow in the skirmish Aramis had lost his hat.

Athos focused on his own fight and managing to capitalize on the man's high arching swing. With a thrust of his main gauche, the man crumpled at Athos' feet. He turned back to Aramis just as the marksman finally felled his opponent, unaware of the remaining man aiming a killing stroke in his direction.

"Get down!" shouted Athos and Aramis dropped to his knees. In a fluid motion and with deadly accuracy, Athos threw his main gauche where it embedded itself in the throat of the final assailant who crumpled bonelessly to the ground. Seven men lay dead around them.

Aramis knelt there, panting slightly and nodded at Athos. "Thanks," he said. Athos nodded.

"We should move," Aramis said, rising to his feet as the noise from the battlefield made its way back to them. "There might be more."

Athos nodded and collected the discarded muskets and his one working pistol. Aramis pulled Athos' main gauche from the body of the dead man and quickly wiped the blade on the sleeve of the man's tunic. Athos hesitated a moment before receiving the blade. He had never killed a man before, and just like that, three men had died by his pistol or blade.

"Are you alright?" asked Aramis.

"I'm fine," said Athos returning the blade to its sheath. Stooping he scooped up something from the ground. "I saved your hat," he told the marksman flatly.

Aramis mouth fell open. "Was that a joke?" he asked incredulously.

"Don't say I never did anything for you," he said, echoing the man's words from earlier.

A burst of laughter came from Aramis, but it was stifled in an instant when a deafening crack resounded across the battlefield.

Time stood still.

Aramis and Athos crept as close as possible toward the battlefield without breaking cover.

All action seemed to have halted as every man turned to face the bell tower which was swaying dangerously. Then with a sickening groan and the screams of dying men, the church collapsed in on itself, engulfed in a mess of flames.

"Moreau," whispered Aramis as he crossed himself and turned away, the vision of the burning church and his friend's last whereabouts reflected in his dark eyes.

"Come on," he said and began to lead the way back through the woods.

oOo

They had been walking for about an hour in silence before Athos realized they were heading in a different direction from the path they had taken to get there. The marksman's head was bowed, brown eyes hidden beneath the brim of his hat. Athos gave the man some space until his unexpected stumble caused Athos to catch up to him.

"Are you hurt?" Athos asked the marksman.

"I'm fine," he said as he leaned against a tree clutching his side. "One of them managed to get a good shot in. I think he managed to crack a rib," he groaned.

Athos stared down at the man. He had cracked a rib once as a boy when he was thrown from his startled horse. No matter what bravado the marksman was trying to display, he knew that the pain must be excruciating. This presumption was verified as Aramis drew in a ragged breath, wincing.

"What do I do?" Athos asked.

"My ribs," wheezed Aramis. "I need to bind them. Use my sash," he said and handed Athos the long piece of blue fabric he had unwound from around his waist.

"It'll be better if you can take your doublet off," he said as he lowered the muskets and took the material from the man at his feet. He watched as Aramis removed his weapons belts and struggled out of his doublet. Raising his left arm, Aramis felt along his lower ribs and winced again as he examined the damage. The darkening bruise was already evident as the site of the impact as Aramis continued to gently run his hand along the injured area.

"Well, they're not broken," he said dropping his shirts back down to cover his exposed flesh. "Let's get them bound quickly. It's cold," he said.

Athos stepped forward and using the blue sash, he bound the man's ribs tightly. He then helped him back into his doublet and fastened his weapons belts before picking up all three muskets, throwing them over his shoulder.

"I'm fine," said the marksman, staring pointedly at Athos. "I can manage."

"Of course," said Athos stoically, staring back. Brown eyes locked with blue in a battle of wills. "Keep him alive," both minds echoed.

"Okay," said Aramis after a few moments, conceding this time. "We need to get moving to the eastern rendezvous. We can't go back the way we came, besides, it's unlikely I'd be able to make that run again right now," he said. "If we continue to head south, there's a bit of an easier crossing that can take us to the meeting point."

Athos nodded. He recalled the map that had been on the General's desk and so had an approximate idea of what route Aramis was suggesting. It wasn't the most direct route, but Athos agreed with Aramis' prudence. Hopefully, that way would help them avoid any other conflicts.

oOo


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Update on my adventures, last night I ate at a bar called Marmions and ordered wine from Gascony. Two days before we went to a camera obscura! Somehow this has turned into a semi-musketeers trip - so how could I NOT write another chapter? :-D

ooooooooooo

The pair headed south at a slower pace, Aramis struggling for breath as they went. Twice he stumbled, and both times Athos managed to catch him before he hit the ground. As the trees started to thin out, Aramis looked around them apprehensively. Finally, when they reached the woods' end, Aramis raised a hand to stop Athos from proceeding.

He cocked his pistol and indicated for Athos to get behind him. Athos hesitated, but complied with the silent command of those dark eyes. Aramis whistled lowly and paused, listening. He whistled once more and waited. This time he was answered by two low coos. Gesturing to Athos, he stepped into the clearing.

"Were you going to shoot me Aramis?" said the man who greeted them with a grin.

"Not this time," he responded, giving the man a nod.

"What happened," said the man as he took in the haggard appearance of the marksman as he lowered himself to the ground and continued to struggle to breathe normally.

"Ribs," muttered Athos as he lowered the muskets to the ground and rolled the kinks out of his shoulders.

"I'm fine," rejoined Aramis, rolling his eyes.

"You his new nurse then?" the man asked Athos. "Needs someone to keep him out of trouble."

"Athos," he said taking the man's outstretched hand. "I was told I was his mule," he deadpanned.

"Mule, eh?" replied the man, "Well you oughta be as stubborn as one if you're going to stay close to this one. Head like a rock sometimes."

"But the face of a prince," Aramis groaned from his seated position.

"Don't know of many handsome princes," said the man, "So I'll just take yer word for it. I'm Marcel," he said to Athos. "You two can rest up for a few minutes – let his majesty catch his breath. Rendezvous' a good hour's march still. Had some water on a little while ago," he said indicating the small cooking stove. "Might be warm still if you want to try to wash some of that mud an' blood off."

Athos crouched to help lift Aramis to his feet. He left the muskets with Marcel.

Together they hobbled over to the small pot and fire where Athos helped Aramis seat himself on a log.

"Bring me some of that water before we start to foul it up. I want to take a look at those stitches in your arm," Aramis said.

Using a cup hanging next to the pot Athos scooped up some water. Kneeling across from Aramis as he delicately unwound the bandage from him arm, Athos could see the flecks of blood and mud covering the man's face. Aramis caught Athos' eye as he took in the gore.

"Don't worry," he said. "None of the blood is mine. And I hate to tell you mon ami, but your visage isn't faring much better," he added with a grin. Athos said nothing and watched as Aramis uncovered the wound.

"Damn," he muttered. "Some of these tore. Well, it's to be expected, taking fresh stitches into battle and all. I'll need to replace them." Athos nodded as the marksman deftly cut and removed the remaining stitches from his arm and poured some of the warm water from the cup onto a piece of fabric. Carefully, he wiped around the wound which had begun to bleed again.

"Sorry about this," he said and once more poured the strange clear liquid onto the wound. Athos let out an involuntary moan of pain as the burning erupted in his flesh again. "I know it burns, but so far it's helped to keep the infection away," he said.

"What is it?" panted Athos, tempering himself.

"Brandy," responded Aramis. "And good stuff too. Bit of a shame really…" he said as he began to thread the needle. Athos was prepared for the stitching this time and glared daggers at the needle and thread as Aramis pulled and pushed them through his flesh.

"How are you coping?" Aramis asked quietly.

Athos looked up at the man who paused in his needlework to make eye contact with the man, before refocussing on his stitches.

"It was your first true battle," he continued. "This was probably the first life you've had to take…"

"No," said Athos suddenly. "This wasn't the first…" Images flashed through his mind: green eyes, white lace, forget-me-nots, his brother lying dead in the drawing room, her cries, the sound of the rope snapping tight.

Aramis looked at the man but said nothing as he tied off the last stitch and poured the remainder of the warm water over the wound. Pain was written across Athos' face, but Aramis knew it wasn't from his ministrations.

"We are honour and duty bound," Aramis said sighing as he recovered the wound. "If our intentions are true and just, God will forgive us in the end."

Athos stared into the dark eyes of the medic. Was it possible he knew?

Aramis gave him a sad small smile and stood to refill the cup with warm water. He handed a second one to Athos.

"I'd recommend drinking it first," he said. "You didn't eat much at breakfast and it'll be a few hours before we reach the rendezvous. Hopefully we'll be able to scour up something to eat."

Aramis took a sip from his own cup and sighed. His arm moving unconsciously to his left side to clasp his wounded ribs.

"Go on," he said. "It'll help warm you up."

Athos hadn't realized it but he was suddenly freezing. The tin cup in his hand was warm to the touch and Athos drank its contents greedily. Aramis smiled at him and together they dipped their hands in the remaining warm water and washed what grime they could off their faces and hands. About ten minutes later, Athos had rebound Aramis' ribs, collected their weapons and the duo set off for the rendezvous.

When they reached the meeting point the camp was sombre. Aramis kept silent for much of their trek – the struggle to breathe taking precedence over his curiosity about his companion and his penchant to chatter.

Who was this man that Treville had sent him? He was a talented fighter to be sure, but there was something in his eyes – "Walls," thought Aramis – but whether keeping ghost out or in, Aramis couldn't tell. In the few and fleeting moments in their interactions when Aramis saws the walls crack slightly, he had witnessed a plethora of emotions – humour, anger, concern, a hauntedness. Overall, the man hid behind a mask of stoicism and indifference; a mask similar to those Aramis recognized from his experiences at court.

"What could have driven the young noble to join the Musketeers," he thought, "What was haunting his soul?"

Aramis made a vow in that instant, looking at his companion as they drew closer to the fire, that he would spend the rest of his life trying to tear down that man's walls and help him bear whatever the great burden was that haunted him. Maybe this is what Treville had meant when he wrote to "Keep him alive"...

oOo


	7. Chapter 7

Darkness had fallen as Athos and Aramis made their journey to the rendezvous point. The men that had gathered around the fire spoke in hushed tones and made room for the two men when they arrived. Someone ran to grab them both a bowl of whatever remained of the dinner, while another passed Athos a wine skin as he and Aramis sat slowly in the space provided for them.

"They never would have seen it coming," said one man, his voice rising above the rest.

The other men grew quiet. Aramis dropped his head, hiding his eyes under his hat brim as he absently stirred the contents of his bowl.

"How did it happen?" someone asked. Subconsciously Athos shifted closer to Aramis, their elbows almost touching.

"The clock struck at 11:00 as was the plan," said the first man. "My group charged up the centre, hoping to drive the enemies eastward. We wanted to give the others time to secure the canon on that hillock by the church and bell tower. Things were going well. We were driving the enemy back – a few broke off and ran west towards the snipers in the woods, but everything seemed to be going to plan…and then it didn't." he paused and took a swig from the wineskin someone had handed to him before passing it on to the next man. "The gunners were still trying to get the cannon in place when everything went to hell. Suddenly a vanguard appeared from the rear of the enemy pushing their own gun on wheels. The generals called a pivot and half of us turned to try to take down that monster before they could begin to fire. This diversion distracted us from their other force. Hidden in the trees by the bell tower, those bastards had begun to launch lit pitch into the churchyard and at the hillock. Both burst into flames. Men were screaming, dying, being burnt alive. Above it all, the men in the tower kept firing, kept driving the enemy back from the hillside. By the time the gun was finally secured at the top of that hill, half of the hillside was scorched to the earth. Thank God for the wet ground from all this rain, else the whole thing would've been lost."

He sighed. "We were able to drive the soldiers back and take out their cannon, but not before it managed to get one shot off. They hit the bell tower near its base. The flames had killed most of the men, but I could still hear the shots from whatever men the generals sent into that tower. We won the day, but at what cost? A good thirty men or so lost their lives to the fire alone, and those men in that tower? They fought to the end those men," he finished sadly. Silence fell once more as the assembled men reflected on the lives lost. Next to him, Athos felt Aramis shudder slightly as he brought the wooden crucifix hanging from his neck to his lips.

Aramis had been silent throughout the man's story. They had been fighting off their own attack as this chaos had been going on, but Aramis had known as that bell tower had collapsed that Moreau had been in there; that he would still be in there, fighting with honour to defend his brothers until the very end.

"As he would be doing for the rest of eternity," Aramis thought. Memories with Moreau flashed before his eyes – his laughing face in some tavern in Paris, sparring together at the garrison, the day Treville had made them part of the original Musketeers. Only he and Tristan were left, and Tristan was long since retired, he thought to himself.

Aramis felt Athos shift again next to him, his forearm pressing against the marksman's. Aramis looked up, surprised slightly. His eyes were met by the shining blue eyes of the man next to him, eyes filled with sympathy, strength, determination – and could it be concern? In his life as a soldier, Aramis had lost many brothers-in-arms, and many friends. Could this strange quiet man perhaps become something more than both?

Athos looked into Aramis' eyes and was startled to see how much pain those dark eyes could contain. Cheer, mischief and a vicious dangerous fire when in battle, Athos had witnessed. These deep wells of sorrow were startling in a man who had spent nearly half his life in battle. In that moment, something shifted in Athos. Athos did not believe in god any longer, but he swore to any and every cosmic being that might be listening, that if possible, he would do whatever he could to prevent those eyes from feeling this level of pain and sorrow again.

oOo

 _ **A/N: Just got back, so I'm sorry this is a short one, but the story is almost done! Thanks for all the feedback! Hope you've enjoyed this!**_


	8. Chapter 8

The next few weeks went by with more of the same. Grey weather, grey faces, grey spirits.

For Athos, the battles that followed his first quickly became a bit of a routine. When he was not trailing Aramis and defending him from his sharpshooter positions, the two of them were often in the mix of the battle. It didn't matter how many bodies had piled up around them, somehow Aramis and Athos always found each other in the midst of battle; it was as though they were tethered to one another. Each man knew the other man's movements, where he would be, how he would react, both trusting that the other had his back covered.

Their evenings were spent with the other men gathered around campfires, sharing wineskins when available and stories and sometimes songs when they weren't. Aramis seemed to radiate cheer which the other men gravitated to like moths to a flame.

Though the taciturn Athos, didn't always share or participate in his friend's good humour – and to Athos' surprise they were more than friends; could brothers be possible? – he nonetheless valued, was comforted and was protective of it. He was also the one who was by Aramis' side when even he couldn't force the cheer into certain situations – like when they came upon the remains of a family huddled in their home in a village ransacked by soldiers. It was impossible to tell whether the monsters that sacked the villagers were French or the enemy. All that was certain was that a family was dead; the shoes of the children lay empty by the door. At moments like these, it was Athos who saw the grief in the marksman, as he shut the eyes of the bodies and said a prayer for their souls. Athos always stood silently at his side, little more passing between them than a soft touch, but a common understanding of pain, of loss and of grief.

Athos and Aramis had been paired together for nearly three months, though to see them, one would have thought it had been years. An easy, though often clipped banter passed between them. Aramis often chattered away as Athos met his candour with a raised eyebrow and a clever retort. Slowly, Aramis was wearing down his defenses.

There were somethings Aramis knew not to press upon, especially in regards to Athos' past, but as time drew on, Aramis became more aware of the comfort and connection the pair had found in each other.

oOo

Another day dawned cold as the grave. A light drizzle began near dawn and looked to escalate to a full on downpour as the day progressed. The battles had been long and bloody, but it seemed like France had finally taken command of the situation. It was possible that the day's impending bloodshed might bring a conclusion to the months of devastation.

Aramis and Athos entered the General's tent together before the day's skirmish to receive their orders as they had been doing every day for weeks now. The General looked at Treville's men – for that's how he would always see them – and outlined how their army might win the field and end the war.

Athos shifted slightly – a large bruise from an earlier battle was still causing him some discomfort. The General saw Aramis tense involuntarily at the man's action, as though fighting the urge to see if the man was alright. The General told Aramis that as the senior-most musketeer, he would be leading the regiment into this final fray. Athos shifted as Aramis nodded his head, unaware of the defensive instinct that kicked in at the thought of his brother in danger.

The General looked at the men that Treville had fused together – strangers only months before, now more than brothers-in-arms; "Blood brothers," he thought.

He pondered how Treville could have known that these two very different men could form a bond like this in a situation like theirs. A bond, thought the General, that if they survived the day, would probably last for the rest of their lives.

"Keep them alive," he prayed as he dismissed the men. "For Treville's sake, and the sake of France, keep these men safe. They have much left to do."

oOo

As Athos cleaned his weapons, Aramis readied the troops for battle – the regiment of 40 musketeers looked back at him. Many had known Aramis for years now; all respected the marksman knowing how far he would go to defend his men. As Athos rose and stood at Aramis' side, many of the men dipped their hats to him as well. In Athos they saw only honour, discipline and strength – and loyalty.

At that moment, to the infantrymen walking past to assume their positions before the charge, there was no better representation of what the King's elite Musketeers should be: Strong, proud, brave, and honourable; A brotherhood of men willing to sacrifice their lives in the name of justice and honour, for their King and for each other. The vision of Athos and Aramis addressing the other musketeers stayed with one man in the infantry in particular as he took his place near the front of the column.

The men stood ready as the enemy approached with their weapons drawn. The first volley of shots fell way short.

"Hold," commanded Aramis from the front of his men, musket poised and ready.

The enemy began to reload their weapons and continued their march.

"Steady," Athos echoed as the encroaching troops prepared to fire their second shots. Aramis caught Athos' eye for a moment. Aramis winked, and Athos shook his head slightly. The gleam of battle and adrenaline shone from those dark pools.

The enemy fired again, but they were still just out of range. Aramis waited for them to advance a few yards further, and then, "FIRE!" he shouted as a crash of musket fire roared into the oncoming soldiers, driving them down in waves.

"CHARGE!" hollered Athos, the call taken up and echoed by the French soldiers across the front line.

Aramis and Athos were soon deep into the fray. Aramis fired at one rushing soldier, killing him instantly. Aramis dropped his spent weapon as two more rushed forward to take the dead man's place. Athos' pistol shot was not as effective, but it stopped his attacker in his tracks, allowing Athos to draw his rapier and finish the man off. The men traded vicious blows with the onslaught of enemy soldiers, bodies piling up around them as the French army fought to keep the field. To his right, in a brief moment of pause in his own attack, Athos could see a French soldier in the distance tearing an enemy off of one of his comrades with his bare hands. He was tall and dark skinned and was fighting his enemies with a bear-like ferocity. In this situation, Athos was thankful that this man's strength and ferocity and courage were on his side.

"ATHOS!" he heard Aramis shout his name as the marksman threw himself in front of him. His moment of distraction had allowed an enemy soldier to circle to his blind side in order to launch an attack. Aramis, who had just vanquished his own foe had been nearby and – by the sake of providence – was able to react to defend his friend.

In his desperation he managed to parry the blow from the man's rapier but was unprepared for the following lunge with the man's main gauche. Aramis managed to knock his attacker backwards. Withdrawing the blade from his side, Aramis stared at it. Then looking at Athos, a mix of confusion and fear for the first time in the marksman's eyes, he fell to the ground and lay still.

Time ceased to exist as Aramis crumpled at Athos' feet.

White rage filled his vision, the image of the fallen marksman – his brother, burned before his eyes.

"NO!" he roared and taking a protective stance over Aramis' body he attacked the enemy soldier who had just regained his feet.

The man was dead in a matter of moments. As Athos stood panting over Aramis, he could hear the enemy's call for retreat in the distance.

Immediately he dropped to his knees, desperately turning the marksman over to search for a pulse.

"Aramis!" he called, tapping the man's face. "This couldn't be happening," Athos thought, "Not again."

The vision of his brother Thomas' dead body flashed momentarily through his mind.

"Not again!" he cried desperately. "Aramis! Aramis! Stay with me!" he shouted, brushing the hair from the man's face. Slowly, the man opened his eyes.

"'thos?" he said weakly.

"I'm here! I've got you. I'm going to get you out of here," he said firmly. "Stay with me, brother," he ordered.

"I know," said Aramis. "I will," he said, his brown eyes filled with pain. Athos grabbed his hand.

He knelt there, staring into those dark, panicked eyes.

Knelt there, in the mud and the guts and the gore of the dead men around them, staring. Clinging to the hand clasped in his, kneading it. Gripping it like the lifeline it was.

The dark eyes were searching – searching but not seeing, fighting, but losing – until suddenly or slowly – time had stopped existing by this point – those eyes, those deep, caring eyes – HIS eyes – drifted closed.

oOo


	9. Chapter 9

He sat there, head bowed, still gripping the hand of the marksman. He had been holding that hand since the physicians had finished what they could. Athos couldn't remember how he had gotten Aramis to the medical tent. Nor could he recall how or when he too had received the injuries the medics insisted on tending – a gash to his side and a stab wound to the leg, both of which were bleeding profusely when he stumbled into the tent with the prone form of Aramis cradled in his arms.

He sat their holding that cold hand and silently prayed, begged and pleaded for the those brown eyes to open.

Behind him, Athos could hear the soft conversation between a medic and a solder as they tended to the man's wound.

"They gonna' be okay?" he heard the soldier rumble lowly.

"Hard to say," he heard the medic reply. A pause and then...

"Musketeers don't die easily," responded the soldier firmly as he stood and exited the tent.

For a moment Athos wanted to stop the soldier, to leech some of the strength and confidence from his certain pronouncement. Athos reached forward and brushed the dark curls from Aramis's face. In his mind he heard Treville's order to keep him alive repeat itself once more.

"This can't be happening," Athos thought. He had fought so hard against letting the jovial man in, knowing what tended to happen to those he got close to. Could he have really have found another brother only to have him stripped away so quickly?

"No," he said quietly but firmly. "Wake up," he said. "please, brother, wake up."

oOo

His head was buzzing as his senses slowly filtered back to him.

"Musketeers don't die easily," he heard a low rumbling say somewhere in the distance. There was something in that voice that called to Aramis, that felt like warmth. That felt like home.

Silence followed that voice, as Aramis strained to hear more. He felt something brush the hair off his face and felt a slight pressure in his hand. The rest of his body was slowly making itself known to him – an ache in his shoulder from the kickback of a rifle was nothing new; the fierce burning coming from his side however had the marksman yearning to return to the sweet oblivion he was in previously.

"No," he heard another voice say. This voice, like the first seemed to call to Aramis. It felt like safety. It was…familiar.

"Wake up," the voice ordered. Then again, bitterly, tragically, earnestly, "Please, brother, wake up."

Aramis knew that voice, knew the man who called him brother. Slowly, Aramis forced his eyelids to rise slightly.

"Brother…" he breathed, at the blurry form of the man at his side. Aramis could see the man tense as he came more into focus. "Are you hurt?"

The man made no response. "Athos?" Aramis asked again, a slight panic in his voice. "Athos, are you alright?"

Athos looked down at the marksman, still ashen from a loss of blood, but eyes full of concern. He looked as though he had been called back from the brink of death – he had, Athos thought – and his first concern was for Athos' wellbeing. Athos may not have believed in God, but in that moment he knew that whatever had somehow endeared him to this man and had endeared this man to him, must have been heaven sent.

"I'm here," he croaked. "How do you feel?" he asked Aramis as he grasped his hand even tighter.

"Fine," he said. "But what happened to your leg?" he asked.

Athos rolled his eyes. "Somehow I managed to get stabbed," he said. "The medics have already stitched me up."

If possible, Aramis looked somewhat annoyed. "Those butchers probably made a mess of the sutures… How did you manage to get yourself stabbed?"

Athos narrowed his eyes. "With the pointy end of a blade, the same way you did, though less heroically, I'm sure."

Aramis blanched then reddened slightly. "Oh," he said grinning sheepishly. "What happened in the battle?" Aramis asked.

"The enemy has surrendered," said Athos. "You have been unconscious for nearly two days. We are due to return to Paris as soon as you are able."

Aramis nodded. "I should be ready at first light."

Athos nodded. "I will prepare our things," he said rising, then he paused. "I was unable to save your hat," he said as he exited the tent.

Aramis was stunned, then began to laugh lowly. "That was a joke," he said and lay back against his pillow.

oOo

A few weeks later, Aramis and Athos were returned to the Musketeers' garrison. Athos was just dressing for morning muster as Aramis bounded in.

"I guess knocking is still a foreign concept for you," quipped Athos, his eyebrow raised at Aramis. The man placed a package on the table as he dropped into a chair.

"It always amazes me that you take longer to dress than I do…though I guess being naturally handsome does make it easier to present one's self to the world," he grinned.

Athos rolled his eyes.

"I have something for you," Aramis said as he adjusted his new hat atop his chestnut curls.

"Open it," insisted Aramis, pushing the package in front of Athos.

He lifted the lid off the box gingerly. Inside was a handsome, wide brimmed leather hat, simple, but exquisitely made.

"Thank you," he murmured, delicately admiring the shape and the stitching before placing the chapeau upon his head. Athos looked at Aramis. "I have something for you too," he said and pulled a bundle from within the trunk at the foot of his bed.

Aramis' eyes widened. Carefully, Aramis unwrapped the rich fabric that covered two magnificent pistols. The guns were adorned with elegant silver scrollwork. "All for one" was engraved on one pistol, while "One for all" was written on the other.

"These were mine," said Athos curtly, "but they will be better used in hands like yours. I had them engraved for you. I thought it fitting. It is our motto after all."

Aramis stared at the glorious weapons in front of him, dumbfounded. This was a princely gift!

"Athos…" he breather, "I knew you were a man who appreciated a good hat."

Athos rolled his eyes and lips curling upwards, he led the way out the door and down the stairs to the morning's muster.

oOo

Aramis and Athos were sitting at their usual table at the base of the stairs having just finished duty at the palace. They were chatting noncommittally about which tavern they might frequent that night for dinner, when Treville summoned them to his office.

Once inside the office, the two men stood at attention before the Captain.

"Gentlemen, we have a new recruit joining us from the infantry," said Treville gesturing to the man that was seated next to the window. "Meet Porthos du Vallon."

The man stood and dipped his head to the two Musketeers. The man was large and easily towered over the others. Power seemed to radiate from his muscular body. His dark skinned cheeks bruised slightly under the men's curious gazes, but the brown eyes above them stared back with a mix of trepidation and determination.

"Welcome," said Athos, extending his hand towards the man. Porthos hesitated for the briefest of moments, looking uncertainly at the outstretched palm before meeting it in a firm handshake. Athos quirked an eyebrow. Aramis beamed at him.

"Porthos will join the other recruits in training. I want you two to show him the ropes," said the Captain. "He has been given his orders and is aware of his responsibilities," he said with a pointed look at Porthos.

The large man shot a determined glance at the two musketeers standing before the Captain and nodded to Treville, who responded likewise. "Dismissed," said Treville, as Porthos turned to lead the way out of the office.

"Athos. Aramis. A word," he said, preventing the two men from leaving.

The two men stopped short and returned to face their Captain.

"Keep him alive."

oOo

 _ **A/N: Thanks for all the great reviews on this story! So now three of our heroes have met! Based on your awesome feedback there might be a sequel cementing the brotherhood coming - I'll keep you posted. Thanks again! Hope you liked it :)**_


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